


Top of the List

by dev_chieftain



Series: Rugged [2]
Category: Dragon Age 2
Genre: Kinky, M/M, Spanking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-05-10
Updated: 2011-05-10
Packaged: 2017-10-19 05:44:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,519
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/197575
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dev_chieftain/pseuds/dev_chieftain
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>For a prompt on the DA kinkmeme:</p><p>M!Hawke is so close to getting the dwarf in his bed, but that damned crossbow is in his way. I would love this to turn into a ménage à trois!</p>
            </blockquote>





	Top of the List

**Author's Note:**

> I consider this a direct sequel to _Mystery Man_.

This has never happened to Varric before. Now, he doesn't like to brag, but he's been around the block, so to speak. He knows his way around town. He's seen a lot of shit in his heyday.

But never this. No shit. There he is, in the door to his own bedroom, and he could swear Hawke went home a while ago, but apparently that was all some clever ruse. Hawke is sitting sprawled across Varric's table, disdaining the low stone chairs, as if he himself is to be the feast on this particular night. Bianca is cradled in his lap and Hawke is deftly playing with the catches of her spring-fitted crosshairs, running his hands smoothly along her stock, thrumming her string with passionate expertise.

Hawke doesn't even look up. He shakes his head at some sound that isn't quite perfect-- ah yeah, there's a screw loose, rattling just a bit-- and gently, so gently, twists the screw home with one cautious fingernail.

Another twang of Bianca's string has her singing in Hawke's all-too-reverent hands, a soft buzzing sort of song that fills Varric's rooms with a tense feeling of anticipation.

Also, Hawke's shirt is still ripped to shreds from that group of blood mages earlier. All the cuts are healed, thanks to Anders but the shirt's beyond saving.

Such a pity, having to see all that nice skin Hawke usually covers up. Hawke, with his boyish thin trails of hair, so thin one might almost not notice it. Hawke, whose chest is actually a spectacular specimen, as human chests go.

"Why are you sitting on my table, again?" Varric manages to ask. If the smoky rumble of his voice is a little more strangled and thin than usual, well, he's just not going to admit it.

Hawke looks up at him and _holy shit_ , for real Varric's convinced he could fall into those dark, hungry eyes, he could just be swallowed up by them right here and now. It's the same way he imagines all those weird-ass dwarves from Orzammar feel when they first see the night sky, so dark and ominous and enormous and unstoppably vast. Holy shit. Varric is gulping. His throat is _bone dry._

Before he can use this as an excuse to leave, Hawke hands him a mug of the barleywine he keeps in stock back here. Watches him closely while he drinks it. Fuck. Is it getting hot in here? It was already pretty damn scorching.

"Bianca and I have been talking," Hawke purrs at last, and it is absolutely not fair that Hawke can sound sexier than any of the lovely nymphettes that Varric has entertained in his time because what the fuck is he supposed to do to that?

Maybe _answer_. "Yeah?" He eyes her suspiciously, runs his tongue over his teeth while he thinks. "She say anything bad about me?"

With a thoughtful sigh, Hawke lays down on the table, which gives Varric some pretty reliably unwise ideas, especially since Hawke then lays Bianca down atop his bare chest, shivering with pleasure at the cool touch of her metal to his skin. "Just that you're very hard to get to. And."

Boggling, Varric discovers, is not something he's really cut out to do. " _And_?" And Hawke is not really licking Bianca's crossbars, is he? "You need to cut that out," he says, trying to sound casual and only succeeding in sounding a little bit predatory.

Okay, a _lot_ predatory.

He is about ten seconds from leaping on Hawke and showing him what-for.

"And," Hawke continues as if he were never interrupted, pressing a kiss to the notch where arrowheads rest when Bianca is oiled and ready for battle. "That you might be more receptive if I made the first move. I understand you're not usually one for threesomes."

There is a black pit in Varric Tethras's heart that is the story of Bianca, and it throbs once, painfully, when he thinks about how he'd feel if it was really her that Hawke was licking right there like it was nothing. Then again, wistfully. Damn. If only _that_ were possible. So rather than tell Hawke off, or deflect him again as he has so many times through the years, Varric sighs in defeat.

This is going to take some creative retelling, later. Hawke with some sexy, young thing-- now that has promise. Hawke with himself sounds like he'd be writing down his fantasies for his own entertainment.

"Put her down above your head," Varric instructs Hawke quietly, taking a tone of subtle command. The young man's eyes flicker briefly as he considers defiance, obedience, considers questioning it. He seems to relent easily enough, and when Varric continues, Hawke obeys, watching him with those intense eyes. "Good. Now roll over onto your stomach and clasp your hands under the table," Varric instructs carefully. Hawke does as told, lacing his fingers together and grinding his hips into the table once before he stills.

From there, Varric has far too many ideas; but Hawke _is_ high-maintenance, and will require the sort of fanfare reserved for persons Varric likes to continue associating with after a good frolic.

"Knees up. There you go; spread them a bit. Not too far, but I want you to concentrate on the strain of keeping that position. It's hard, but you can do it." From here, he can still see Hawke's face in profile, brow furrowing in concentration, eyes half-lid with pleasure and anticipation. "Don't know how squeamish you are about licking lady parts, Hawke, but I want you to start on Bianca now. Just your tongue. Make sure she's having a good time while I get you ready."

The throaty groan Hawke can't suppress is a good indication that Varric is handling himself admirably so far. Good. Good. At least one of them is confident this is a reasonable idea.

Varric busies himself with the unenviable task of undressing, keeping his gloves on when he finally decides that they'll have a pleasant effect of foreign sensation and kicks his trousers aside. He climbs onto the table, kneeling behind Hawke, and slowly, slowly, peels back Hawke's pants, baring the man's straining erection and the perfect globes of that very, very fine ass for Varric's eyes only.

"Nice," he smirks in satisfaction, pressing a kiss to the small of Hawke's back. The moan he gets in answer is punctuated by a slow roll of Hawke's hips. "Oh, I agree. But first I need to know a few things."

Hawke blinks, pausing in his ministrations of Bianca (he is drooling on himself, but has done a fantastic job of ensuring that the next few times they go to battle, Varric's going to have a hard time thinking of Hawke _not_ going down on his crossbow) to crane his head around, looking up at Varric enquiringly.

"How'd you get into my rooms?" Varric asks smoothly, rubbing one hand on that sweet, soft ass, caressing Hawke until the man rolls his hips again.

"We all have our tricks of the trade." This seems to be Hawke's idea of coy; he smiles over his shoulder, still not releasing his hands. "I'll never tell."

That is exactly what Varric hoped he'd say. "Oh, _won't_ you." He lifts one gloved hand, slaps Hawke squarely on his buttocks, and savors the undignified yelp, followed by the absolutely scandalized _and very very turned on_ expression that Hawke turns his way. "Tell me."

"You'll have to beat it out of me," Hawke purrs, wriggling now.

"Gladly." Varric slaps again, reveling in the soft sound of leather on flesh, the little red imprint he leaves behind. He doesn't miss the way Hawke's dick jumps, the way Hawke's breath catches; so he takes up an even rhythm, beating the Champion's ass like a drum, until Hawke starts grinding back into him needily, moaning his name.

Andraste's flaming tits, he's never been this hard before in his life. Sorry, Bianca.

"Hold up, hold up," Varric grunts softly, gripping Hawke's waist firmly and holding him in place until he stops trying to get Varric to just fuck him then and there. "I'm not going to do this without getting you all properly situated. Also, you're neglecting Bianca. Get back to it."

Something about being commanded to fellate a crossbow really seems to push Hawke's buttons. He hungrily resumes the task, eyes fluttering shut after a moment or two, while Varric sets to work browsing his room's stores for something appropriate to use to smooth the way for himself. Eventually, he settles on some scented oil he'd let Isabela talk him into keeping for her. Smells like hazelnuts, feels just a bit cool to the touch, and has some kind of aphrodisiac laced in it that she'd not deigned to elaborate on. If Hawke is adventurous enough for spanking, this should be in line with what he's been wanting, shouldn't it?

He strips off his gloves at last, untying his hair as an afterthought, and tosses both gloves and leather thong off into a corner. He'll worry about appearances later. Slicking his fingers first, he returns to the table, circling the pucker of Hawke's hole slowly, teasingly pressing in while the man hisses, pausing in his work on Bianca only to demand, urgently, that Varric go faster.

"All right, Hawke," Varric purrs. "If you insist."

He fingerfucks the man until Hawke is pressing his face into the stone of the table, groaning incoherently, wriggling his tantalizing ass a bit higher in the air. So Varric grabs Hawke's hips again, drags him down to the right height, and with a single bare-palmed slap to the right cheek, Varric pushes in.

He's far, far too thick for Hawke. They both freeze, Hawke's shoulders tense with desire, his eyes rolling. He turns determinedly back to his task of licking Bianca, even as Varric hisses curses, slowly pushing deeper, deeper, until he's snugly fit in Hawke's body. It's like he's always been here. Fuck. He could die like this and be happy. But scratch that, he's against dying.

"Good?" Varric asks, voice rough with hunger. It's damn difficult not to just start fucking Hawke then and there, but he's enough of a gentleman to at least _try_ to be considerate.

Hawke rolls his hips in answer, making some strangled noise that shoots right up Varric's spine, triggering some primal _need_ to force Hawke to make that sound more. His hips snap back, stopping just short of exit, and forth; he holds on to Hawke's hips for dear life and starts fucking him mercilessly, demanding to know how Hawke got into his rooms in a ragged whisper, asking questions that Hawke doesn't-- or can't-- answer.

"How'd you get in? Why? What did you think you'd find-- if you snooped around--? How does it feel, being fucked into the table like the-- _bastard_ \-- you-- are--?" Varric is seeing stars. Holy shit, holy _shit_. Is that feeling of impossibly strong muscles clenching around him what he thinks it is?

" _Varriiiic_ ," Hawke is panting, as if he is praying, almost begging for more, even while he's coming, even while he's sucking Bianca's tip hungrily. "Don't-- stop--"

And he doesn't-- no, fuck it all, _can't_ \-- until he's driven Hawke into the table so hard he can see the human's eyes crossing with pleasure overload. Varric can't help a wry grin; he's got stamina to spare, even if he's thinking he might like to get one off in a moment here. It's getting very sweaty in here, and Hawke's dick is still hard (or got hard again, really, Varric couldn't tell from this angle, just knows it's still hard when he risks reaching around to touch it).

" _Harder,_ " Hawke demands, and Varric slaps him again, deliberately making his strokes quick and gentle, forcing the man to mewl in protest. "P-please?"

"Louder."

"Pleeease fuck me _harder_ , Varric." Oh, hell. He could listen to Hawke use that weak, boneless, happy-place voice forever. It pretty much does him in. But he grants Hawke that wish when he loses his tight control, fucking Hawke so hard that Hawke's breath comes out of rhythm, loud and sharp.

When he's spent, he slumps forward on Hawke's back, using the position to stroke the other man's cock with a vicious tenacity until Hawke comes _again._ It doesn't take as long as Varric'd worried. But it does have the unexpected side-effect of making Hawke limp as a ragdoll. Varric drags the poor bastard off of his table and into bed, climbs in beside him, and has to stifle a laugh when Hawke immediately starts running his fingers through Varric's chest hair, humming happily, drifting in some pleasant zone of bliss while he basks in the glow of being fucked through and through.

Only after they are both starting to get fuzzy headed does either of them remember Bianca, left on the table. Varric crawls out of bed before Hawke can get up, telling him, "No, no. You stay put."

Bianca has been absolutely and utterly debauched, but seems to be in perfect shape otherwise. With a soft coo, Varric brings her back to bed, setting her down on his right, pulling Hawke in close on his left.

"You may resume your fawning," he growls imperiously, "what brought this on, anyway?"

Hawke has already lost himself in nuzzling Varric's chest hair with his head, drowsy and thoroughly sated. "...hm? Oh." He smiles a languid smile. "Heard your limerick-off earlier, with Isabela and Anders. Particularly liked the one about the naughty assassin, got ideas."

"'The naughty assassin's obsession  
with the Chantry priest's chaste affections  
earned forty lashes / with branches of ashes  
and left him a throbbing erection?"

" _That's_ the one," Hawke purrs, closing his eyes. "Next time I want you to flog me just like that."

Varric smirks to himself, and politely doesn't tell Hawke that he stole that one from Hawke's journal. Hell. The guy probably knows. Instead, he says, "Sure thing, Hawke. Provided you provide the whip."

"Got a whole bloody wardrobe full of 'em from all those slavers." The disgruntled murmur says that _Varric has been very slow to pick up on the hint._ "Let me tell you, it _wasn't_ fun to have to explain to Fenris why I was keeping them all when he found out."

"An offense deserving of lashes, to be sure." With a heavy sigh, Varric gives in to curiosity. "Did Bianca _tell_ you I was into bondage?"

"Mm-hmm."

"Traitor," he tells her, but he doesn't really mean it. "Well, then. Consider yourself enlisted for indentured service."

"Oo, I shall." Hawke licks one of his nipples, and Varric bares his teeth in a very appreciative grin.

As far as things that have never happened to Varric before, this one rates pretty high. "Gonna have to call that a win," he tells Hawke, leaning in to bite his ear. That, apparently, is the right place, because it makes Hawke writhe and let out this sexy trilling breathy moan that Varric could _sell_ if there was a way to bottle it.

Scratch that. This rates top of his list.


End file.
